


Pen Pals!

by JustinTimberlake



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustinTimberlake/pseuds/JustinTimberlake
Summary: King's College student Harry Kane met Manchester University student Dele through a mistaken text a couple of months ago, and ever since that first wrong text, they haven't stopped. He's fallen pretty head over heels for this boy that he's never even met, and now he's deeply nervous to be meeting him for the first time. He knows that it's not going to be this perfect, magical movie moment that he wishes it would be. He just hopes that he gets to hug the boy he likes.





	Pen Pals!

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is borne from a very complex complicated AU and i'm pretty certain this will make no sense at all to a casual reader but I tried to adjust it enough so that it would! There's not enough delekane in the world and it's absolutely criminal so I must upload this anyway. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Harry can’t believe that he’s here. 

If someone would have told him a few months ago that he would be meeting up with a boy he’d met through a wrong number text - a boy who went to a completely different uni, in a different town - a boy who he  _ fancied -  _ he would’ve laughed in their face. 

Harry had never been to Manchester before, but he had heard all about it. He’d heard about it from his roommate and sidekick Harry Winks and from his home friend Christian Eriksen, and he had seen it often enough on TV - although, he does realise Manchester is probably more than just the Etihad and Old Trafford. Still, all he really knew about it was the football, the club Winks had gone to, the tram ride Christian took, and, well, the rain. Manchester was known for its terrible weather, and Winks and Christian had only reinforced this for him when he had caught some of their instagram stories of them soaking wet on their visits there.

In fact, Harry had watched Winks’ story a few times, as Winks being soaked through and dancing in a club was a little more interesting to him than he would probably like to admit. He can’t let himself think too much about that, though. Winks had only really just gotten over his crush on him, which had been pretty difficult while they were living together. At one point, Harry had been a little afraid that Winks was going to drop out of uni or that he was going to move out, and it had broken his heart a bit to tell Winks he doesn’t think he can love him back like that. It’s not fair, really, that he still thinks Winks is hot, but he just can’t let himself have him. It would hurt Winks’ feelings too much. And Harry’s. And Dele’s. 

Dele, who has hurtled straight into his life in the space of a few months and has quickly become one of the most important people in his life. He talks to him all day every day, and when he’s not talking to him he’s thinking about him. He’s so interesting, and funny, and cute and lovely, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly hot as well. 

He’s can’t actually believe he’s finally going to meet him. He’s been waiting for this moment for weeks now, and he’s been equally as excited as he has been nervous. He knows his speech impediment is going to be a problem, and he’s a little worried that he’s not going to be able to even talk. He checks his watch nervously, wringing his hands together and trying to practice his greeting. He really hopes that Dele doesn’t bring Eric along, because it would somehow be even worse, that he wouldn’t be able to talk the entire time. He’s quite disappointed, really, that Winks couldn’t come along with him. He would’ve felt much, much more confident with his sidekick stood beside him. There’s just something about being with Winks that makes him feel a lot more comfortable. 

But this had all happened quite last minute, and Winks had to go home for a minor family emergency. Winks is just as devastated too, and keeps texting Harry words of encouragement as well as pleading with him to get Eric on FaceTime to him, even though Eric and Winks FaceTime every other day without Harry’s intervention anyway. 

Winks seems to be certain, as well, that the pair of them will be going up to Manchester again really soon. Harry’s not quite as certain, but he’s hopeful. He would really like that - if nothing else, he sort of wants to chaperone the first time Eric and Winks meet. He knows he probably doesn’t have any right to be, but he’s fiercely protective over Winks and he knows that he and Eric sext a lot and he almost wants to give Eric a stern talking to. But he also would like it because he thinks it would be really nice, really nice to all hang out together, almost like a double date. 

So yes, he’s hopeful, but he’s also a little unsure, and really nervous. It all depends on quite how badly his and Dele’s meeting goes. He’s worried that it’s going to go terribly. He’s worried that he will see him and not be able to talk and he’ll run away or Dele will think he’s weird and somehow they will just never speak again. Or that he’ll see Dele and he’ll fall even harder in love with him and Dele won’t feel the same and it’s going to hurt so, _ so  _ much. 

And then even the best case scenario is that somehow Dele likes him still, somehow they end up having a lovely weekend, and then they kiss and they cuddle and they fuck and they become boyfriends - so, in short, even the best case scenario is absolutely terrifying. 

Dele was meant to be here five minutes ago, and hasn’t texted him for seven minutes, so Harry is starting to worry a little bit. 

_ What if he came in, saw you and left? What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he’s never going to reply to you again? What if - _

“Hey,” he hears a breathless voice behind him. “Harry? That’s you right? Harry Kane?” 

He turns around, and he forgets all about trying to talk. He almost forgets about trying to breathe. It’s really him. It’s Dele, right there in front of him. It’s Dele smiling at him nervously, it’s Dele dressed in Harry’s football shirt and pulling it off far better than Harry ever could, it’s Dele reaching out towards him and hugging him tightly, it’s Dele laughing against Harry’s neck. It’s Dele. 

Harry’s brain catches up with him and he throws his arms around Dele’s back and hugs him so tightly he gets a little afraid that he’s going to crush him a bit. Dele’s still sort of burying his face into Harry’s neck, and Harry can smell his hair. It smells fruity, like he must use women’s shampoo and maybe even conditioner, and Harry smiles without even meaning to. He’s here, he’s here with Dele and they’re hugging and he can smell Dele’s shampoo and he can smell Dele’s aftershave and it’s just so  _ real.  _

They must only hug for a minute at the most, but it feels like the moment stretches on forever. Somehow, though, it feels like it’s nowhere near long enough, and Harry finds his arms trying to reach for Dele again when Dele pulls away. He’s a little embarrassed by it, and drops his arms immediately, blushing, but Dele just smiles sunnily at him. 

“I can’t believe it,” Dele grins, “I can’t believe you’re really here.” 

Harry tries to talk, tries to say it back, but he just can’t. He knew he wouldn’t be able to, but he thought it would just be because of how nervous he was, like normal. But that’s not it. He isn’t that nervous. He just can’t talk to Dele because he’s just so taken aback by how gorgeous Dele is. He can feel himself just staring at him, can feel his lips stretching into a soft smile and can just tell he is giving Dele serious heart eyes right now. 

What he likes even more is that Dele doesn’t seem to mind at all about Harry’s inability to speak. The only other person Harry has ever met who has been so instantly accepting of this was Winks, and even then it was a little slow-going as Winks figured out exactly how to get Harry to open up. With Dele, they’ve had so much time to discuss it and work towards it over the phone and over Fifa and over their little Skype calls that Dele knows exactly how to get Harry comfortable, how to get him to open up, and how to make it better for him. He knows that the best way to make Harry feel better is just for Harry to hear Dele’s voice, so Dele does what he does best. He talks.

He talks and talks, telling Harry about his nightmare day, about how he is so sorry he was late, about how Eric has been moping all day that he’s not going to be meeting Winks today, about how the weather is meant to be nice but that there’s a thirty percent chance of rain, and about all the things he and Harry can get up to while they’re in Manchester. He has hundreds of potential plans, so many different bars and restaurants and escape rooms and cinemas and shopping centres, and Harry would love to do any of them, but mainly he just wants to spend time with Dele. He would be happy to do absolutely nothing all weekend, even happy to go home now and not do anything else, because he’s already had one of his best moments ever. He’s met Dele. He’s met the boy he likes, he’s hugged the boy he likes, and the boy he likes is still here, chatting to him, grinning, looking just as excited as he is. On top of all that, it’s sunny and warm and he finally has an excuse to wear his new sunglasses. 

He’s already having the best day ever. 

***

Three hours later, and he’s still having the best day ever. They went back to Dele’s to drop Harry’s things off, then had gone out to play rooftop crazy golf and have cocktails and somewhere along the line, Harry had started to talk. He can’t even remember how it happened, but one minute he was still nervous about talking and the next he was teasing Dele for his One Direction poster and his lynx and his Man City pyjamas. Then they were walking to town and Dele was pointing out different places he goes to, and Harry was asking him about every single one, trying to soak up as much information about Dele’s life as he can. Then they were at crazy golf and Dele had never so much as held a golf club in his life, so Harry had to teach him and coach him through it, standing behind him and helping him to follow through with the shot. It felt like something from a corny romantic comedy, but Harry’s pretty sure that Dele enjoyed it, since Dele asked him for help with wide eyes on three separate occasions after it too. 

They’ve been flirting back and forth all afternoon long, and Harry has never been more attracted to anyone in his life. The sun beating down on them is making it even worse - Dele’s skin looks so lovely in the sun, and the fact he keeps having to squint because he didn’t bring any sunglasses just makes him look so adorable.

They go inside for another drink, then they go next door to Revolution de Cuba for another, and they’re both getting a little tipsy and even flirtier, and Harry’s head is swimming with how much he’s attracted to Dele, how much he wants to kiss him, how much he wants to hold him and never let him go. 

Dele informs him that they have reservations booked at a restaurant nearby, and Harry feels like he has butterflies as Dele quickly goes to the bathroom to “freshen up,” and make himself look nice for their “date.” The fact Dele called it a date, jokingly or not, makes Harry feels like his heart is bursting. He’s been telling himself all day long to not let himself think of it like that, to not allow himself to think of it as a date or of Dele as his boyfriend, but now Dele has just come out and said it and - ok. Okay, maybe this is a date. Maybe Dele is taking him on a date, and maybe, just maybe, Harry is falling desperately in love with him.

Harry looks at himself in his phone camera and grimaces. His hair is a bit of a mess because of how often he’s ran his fingers through it, and you can’t tell that he ever carefully styled it with the gel at all. His face is a little flushed because of the alcohol, and even when he’s just sat alone, he’s grinning like an idiot. He feels like he should go and freshen up too, maybe splash his face with some water, but just as he comes to this realisation, he sees Dele make his way through the crowd, smiling at him and doing a little awkward wave. For what feels like the hundredth time today, Harry feels his heart do a little somersault. He’s just so endearing and lovely and cute, and Harry just likes him so much. 

He gets up out of his seat and grabs his own and Dele’s jacket, checking around the table and seat to make sure they haven’t left anything, then makes his way over to Dele, who’s stood there smiling happily and completely ignoring the girl to his left who is eyeing him up as if she’s ready to make a move. He’s just staring right at Harry. 

Harry gets over to him and decides to be a little daring. He taps Dele’s back in greeting, then just leaves his hand there, on the small of his back, as they both walk out of the bar. Dele puts up no complaints, so Harry counts it as a win and keeps it there, stroking Dele’s back with his thumb. It’s only six o’clock, so Harry’s looking forward to the evening sun still being out and warming them gently as they walk to the restaurant, which Dele informs him is just a short fifteen minute walk. 

They walk out of the door, and it feels like they’re somewhere completely different. The evening sun is not shining as Harry was expecting. Far from it. The sky is dark and cloudy and it’s absolutely chucking it down. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Dele whines, taking his jacket from where Harry was holding it out for him and holding it over his head. Once Dele has taken his own, Harry does the same with his jacket, too, but it’s just a cotton hoodie so he’s pretty sure it’s not going to help at all. The streets are pretty bustling, too, with people trying to overtake each other even though the pavement is really narrow, and at one point they almost lose each other, so Dele turns round and grabs Harry’s hand to try and pull him through. 

Harry’s jacket is already soaked through, and he gives up, draping it over his shoulder and using his free hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. Dele looks across at him and smiles, and Harry takes a second to look at him, even as someone shoves past them. Dele’s grinning, even though the denim jacket he’s holding over his head isn’t doing much at all to shield him from the downpour. His precious hair is wet too, but Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him. He knows that Dele cares very deeply about how his hair looks. His shirt - Harry’s shirt - is damp from the rain and is a darker blue in the patches where it is sticking to Dele’s skin, and Harry has to swallow around the lump in his throat. He looks back up to Dele’s face and sees the way that the rain is dripping down his face, down his neck, and he feels himself getting turned on despite himself. Dele just looks so, so fucking good, so hot, and Harry’s always had a kink for this anyway, which had gotten much worse after him and Dele had started flirting more, as Dele, knowing Harry’s kink, had taken to sending him photos of himself just after getting out of the shower. With clothes on, of course, trying to reflect a semblance of propriety, but really just turning Harry on even more. 

“How long ‘til the restaurant?” Harry asks, tearing his eyes away from Dele for long enough to look at the street and see the rain bouncing off the kerb even harder than before. It’s starting to actually get cold, standing out there in the pouring down rain, and Harry hopes that they’re at least close now. He can deal with it if it’s five minutes or less. 

Dele looks down at his phone and frowns.

“Eight minutes,” he whines, and he grabs Harry’s arm more fully now, cuddling up into him. “I’m so fucking cold. Why didn’t we bring coats?” 

Harry loops his arm around Dele’s back and looks around him, eventually spotting a little seating area outside the back of the Costa with an umbrella over the table, clearly intended for the earlier summer weather. He gestures over to the chairs with a little cock of his head, and Dele nods and follows along gratefully as Harry leads him over there. 

They stand underneath the umbrella and finally get to stand and look at each other. 

“Hey,” Dele says breathlessly. 

“Hey,” Harry replies, moving his hand from Dele’s back to his side and squeezing. 

Harry knows this is the moment he should lean in for the kiss. He knows it with every fibre of his being. This is their rom com moment, this is their kiss in the rain, this is that moment he’s been waiting on for so long. It’s taken them two months to meet, and he doesn’t want to wait another two months for a moment like this to come by again. He knows that he needs to lean in, but he is also aware that he just...isn’t. He isn’t doing anything. Right this moment, he is missing his chance. He’s standing there like an idiot, and he’s not kissing Dele even though Dele is looking at him and waiting and looking so beautiful and happy, and he’s  _ not kissing him.  _

He’s still just staring into Dele’s eyes when he hears the loud rumble of thunder, and he jumps and looks around at the skies and laughs, about to suggest they should probably find better cover than a little umbrella, but as he turns to Dele he’s stopped in his tracks. Dele grabs his face with his hands and pulls him in, stopping just before their lips touch.

“Is this okay?” Dele breathes. “I’m not reading this wrong?” 

Harry can’t believe Dele ever thought he was reading it wrong, ever thought in a million years that Harry  _ wouldn’t  _ want to kiss him. 

“No,” Harry says, and Dele’s eyes widen as he tries to pull away, obviously mistaking Harry’s answer as Harry telling him that it’s not okay, so Harry puts a steadying hand in his hair. Dele stops trying to pull away from him, and just looks at him with hope in his eyes. 

Harry wants to elaborate, tell Dele that he wants to kiss him so badly that it hurts, that he’s fallen asleep to thinking of this moment almost every night for weeks, but he can’t bring himself to talk again. 

Instead, he decides to finally make his move.

He leans in and presses his lips softly against Dele’s, and the kiss is wet and Dele’s hair is wet and the umbrella buckles a little at the side and drenches the pair of them just as Dele is deepening the kiss. They break away, laughing and Dele screaming just a little bit, but then they look back at each other and they’re kissing again, and then again, and then again. 

They’re drenched, they’ve missed their dinner reservations, and Harry’s certain that he dropped his jacket by accident around five minutes down the road, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s kissing Dele. 

This is the best day ever. 


End file.
